Only You

The radiance of your face
Pierces the darkness inside me.
The lilt of your voice
Cascades gently over me.
The touch of your hand
Warms me to my bones.
I live for this moment
To be known by only you.

The Journey

To a new crossroads I have come
Will I go to the east or west?
Bloodied, weary my feet are numb.
Languid in spirit, I seek rest.

I drop my load upon the road
No desire to keep trudging
Down this mysterious highroad
Where each way looks disconcerting.

The unknown urges me onward
To take up my burden again
A choice lies before me unbarred,
Whether I follow ridge or glen.

These steps I take tenatively
To move beyond the line of fear,
My compass holds resolutely,
I follow its command, sincere.

Eyes

They hold such clarity
Yet can beguile and tease.
Laughter shines brightly
From these orbs of ease.
They can wall inside
The heart of a person
Or show to the world
Every thought and action.
Dark are the centers
That widen or constrict
Depending on the light
That enters into it.
With vivid hues and color
They shape the world around
Perceiving, yet dreaming
Of a life they've not found.

Tomorrow

It is yesterday's tomorrow
The first of tomorrow's dreams.
The dawn of time fulfilled
Already, but still beginning.
All of today's moments
Passed, and yet looming
Ever present.
Yesterday may be gone
But tomorrow is always future.

To Go Back

To go back and fix
mistakes. Choices wrongly made
or words better left
unsaid. To go back.
To return to what you know.
Unfamiliar places, feelings
stampeding your mind,
driving it forward. Progress
you fought for and attained.
Now this nagging need
beckons you. To go back.
What would be different
If you had that chance?
           (if only the universe
let you have that possibility)
To go back. 

Bring the Line Back

The line has blurred
I cannot see
Right from wrong:
Where should I be?

I tell a lie
To help a friend
Vice or virtue?
It all depends.

I slept with him,
To gain his love
Vice or virtue?
Is it enough?

It had to go;
I wasn't ready--
Vice or virtue?
Pain grows steadily.

Bring the line back
So I can see
Right from wrong
Where I should be.

Untitled poem

We were in bliss
Until that moment
When I looked into your eyes
And saw betrayal.
I thought you were the one
That you were someone
I could believe in,
One I could trust.
It was all just a lie,
An impending doom
Of disappointment.
We were in bliss
Until you opened your eyes.

Some thoughts on revenge and The Count of Monte Cristo

Have you ever done something that you know is wrong but convince yourself that it's alright? (I bet your feeling guilty right now.) We've all done it. Maybe it doesn't seem that bad. It won't hurt anyone right? Or maybe you just have to do it or else everything will fall apart. How desperate do we have to get? 

I can't tell you how many times I've just let hurt or wrong done to me stay in the back of my mind. I'd conjure it back into my mind again and again, hoping that somehow I could deliver the justice that I so longed for. 

Edmond Dantes, in The Count of Monte Cristo, sets out to exact revenge on all his enemies after they dealt out injustice to him. He devotes more than half of his life to ruin those who imprisoned him and kept him from marrying his love. Yet in all of this, he does not account for his love for Mercedes to change his plans. Also we see Count Morcef (also known as  Fernand) being exposed for his crimes. As Alexander Dumas so quaintly stated      "Moral wounds have this peculiarity - they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart"(The Count of Monte Cristo). 

We all may hide but come to find that in hiding, the wrong just festers, burrowing deep into our souls. Those choices we make can cause 

Ruhammah

I wrote this poem after reading from Hosea.

 Hosea 2:1 “In that day you will call your brothers Ammi—‘My people.’ And you will call your sisters Ruhamah—‘The ones I love.’ 

It just reminded me of how much Jesus has done for me and that he calls me daughter. Do I even pay attention to things of him as I should? Would I listen to his voice? It's very convicting for me and I hope it strikes a chord in your life.

           Ruhammah

He called me out of darkness

From my chains he set me free.

His love is like none other

Washing gently over me.

Ruhammah-- "the ones I love."

The name he gives his children.

Do you hear his voice calling?

Will you even stop to listen?

Bible verse comes from BibleGateway.com/NLT

What Pain is This

What pain is this

That clouds my soul

Of unknown grief--

Despairing.

What loneliness

I've come to know

With more still ever--

Looming.

Much have I heard,

The joy of love,

A constant ache--

Burning.

"Love is worth it,"

I hear oft said

Its presence here--

Comforting.

Absence of love

That is worse still

Life's deepest desire--

Yearning.

Look up and see 

Oh downcast soul.

Love reaches for you--

Hoping.

We Stand Tall

Alone, but resolute
We stand tall.
Amidst the mocking voices
Echoing off the walls.

Respect and honor:
That much we ask.
You reject our sacrifice
Sending our brothers to rest.

Yet we cannot waiver;
We must not forget.
Our sworn duty
To guard and protect.

<mbw

Revenge: the Poison of the Soul

Have you ever done something that you know is wrong but convince yourself that it's alright? (I bet your feeling guilty right now. So am I.) We've all done it. We tell ourselves that it's not that bad. It won't hurt anyone, right? Or maybe you just have to do it or else everything will fall apart. How desperate do we have to get to exact revenge? 

I can't tell you how many times I've just let hurtful words or wrongful actions done to me stay in the back of my mind. I'll conjure it up in my mind again and again, hoping that somehow I can deliver the justice that I so longed for. Yet my intentions are anything but righteous. I want to cause as much pain as I can. (Don't look at me with that horrified expression. You've done the same thing.)

Edmond Dantes, in The Count of Monte Cristo, sets out to exact revenge on all his enemies after they dealt out injustice to him. He devotes more than half of his life to ruin those who imprisoned him and kept him from marrying his love. Also we see Count Morcef (also known as  Fernand who was one of the main offenders) being exposed for his crimes. Two other men who played a large part in Edmund Dantes suffering also come to ruin from the hands of Dantes. As Alexander Dumas so quaintly stated      "Moral wounds have this peculiarity - they may be hidden, but they never close; always painful, always ready to bleed when touched, they remain fresh and open in the heart"(The Count of Monte Cristo). Edmund kept living for the exact moment in time when he could repay the evil done to him onto his enemies.

We all may hide but come to find that in hiding, the wrong just festers, burrowing deep into our souls. It becomes a poison to our souls. Those choices we make can cause more damage than if we let it go and give our injustice to God, who deals justice onto the wicked. In the end, Edmund realizes (as we should) that it's not his place to exact justice on his enemies. 

So next time you feel like you can't go one more minute without exacting revenge, pray about it. Ask God to take away your feelings of injustice and replace them with forgiveness. As Romans 12:19 says, "'Vengence is mine I will repay' says the Lord" (NKJV).

Due Dilligence

I have given you due diligence

God, what more can I do?

I have offered all myself 

At least that's what I say.

No part of me hidden

No option not explored.

I rest in my beliefs 

That you are who I've longed for.

Do I know the real you

Deep down in my heart?

Or is the God I know 

Contrived of my own preference?

A meeting with him

Just a part of my checklist?

I say I've given due diligence

Yet I follow my own way.

Following my schedule

Choosing to ignore if I please.

Oh God turn me back to you,

So I can know who you truly are.

May you not be to me

Just an item on my checklist.

Jury of Uncertainty

Confounding and uncertain
Lie the events of this world.
A corporeal fear encased
In brick after brick of knowledge
Weighted heavier than beliefs or faith.
Schedules are set; plans made reality.
Resting in the back of the mind
A sudden interruption is feared,
Amassing such inner trauma
To make a body more stalwart
Against change of any kind.
Man-wallowing and shallow
Dismisses the True hand
Divining events while working out good.
The unknown, believed to be injurious,
Is content to surprise.
The atheist swears it is Fate.
The agnostic says he does not know.
The scholar speaks about reason.
The scientist stands by fact and observation.
All a jury deciding the fate of uncertainty 
But without authority from the Judge.

I Belong

You're the popcorn to my movie;
The thread to my blanket,
And even when I'm silly,
You just laugh and forget it.
You're the sunshine on my down days;
The ink to my pages
For when you're around
I know it'll be good days.
You're the dreamer to my reality;
The notes to my song,
And with youre hand in mine
I know where I belong.

<mbw

Deadweight

A millstone presses on her chest
Stealing the life right out of her.
Her hands, raw from grasping at the stone,
Collapse.
She has no strength left to fight.
Quickly, she sinks.
Fear embraces her frame 
As if to invite her into a facetious comfort
Though she knows it's only an illusion.
Even if she were to fight,
She'd loose.
Like a tide ebbing and waning
She never ceases to descend
Into the intellectual whirlpool
Of uncertainties.
A guarantee for humanity;
Destined to drown her slowly
Wave after betraying wave.
In the end, she is nothing
But deadweight.
Her struggle lost to the world
Through the murky water she rests in.

<mbw

Entwined

Oh, the entwined snare we spin,

With words left unspoken,

And promises still broken,

We see again trodden

    The path we've led.

Oh, the entwined snare we spin,

With lies we conceived, 

And debts all aggrieved,

We stay still deceived

      In the trap we lay.

Oh, the entwined snare we spin,

Thread woven loom by loom,

Secretly seeking to entomb,

We feel the heavy gloom

          Clouding our view.

Oh, the entwined snare we spin,

Forgotten truth evades,

Where coils cut and jade,

We repress while fears cascade

             To surround us in quiet.

<mbw 

Exposed

Damaged shutter, sullied lens;

Creased paper, broken frames;

Black receded, white emerged;

Beauty eroded, moment erased. 

It's a picture 

Exposed with naked clarity;

A lost time, forgotten.

A Soul's Existence

Death erases forever

The future of a soul.

It steals the chance to experience

The beauty of a sunset;

It is a thief of love 

And bearer of grief

Where loneliness remains unfulfilled

And dreams stay forgotten;

It obliterates

The existence of a soul. 

Or does it?

Is the future ever fully erased

By means undefined?

Or can a soul live on

Either in joy or in pain 

Immortalized by choice

And formed by experience.

To choose, by definition,

Is to decide between

Alternatives. Is life, mere reality,

Honestly more poignant

Than the soul's eternal

Existence?

Life is a gift,

It should be cherished,

Not snuffed out

Emboldened, 

Not diminished.

Death may erase forever

The physical future

A soul may have. But

It cannot take away

The eternality of its existence.

<mbw

Broken Tears

Tears trail down my cheeks, 

The pain almost seems too hard. 

How can I go on?

What is left but to give up?

Energy is all drained from me,

My body is limp on the floor.

God, what am I to do?

"I gave you strength

When you couldn't go on. 

I kept you safe,

Even in your wayward path.

I brought you back;

In faith, you stay. 

I will never leave you;

I do not fail.

Daughter, be still

My love for you remains 

You're safe in my arms.

<mbw 

Review: Dear Mr. Knightly by Katherine Reay

So I decided to read this book my sister loaned me, and I was pleasantly surprised. I had decided to take a break from romance novels of late because I felt like all of the stories were alike. Yet Ms. Reay approached this story in a way that I have never read. Written from first person point of view, the character, Sam Moore, is a foster grad student who is given a scholarship to go to graduate school for journalism. However, a condition for the scholarship is that she must write letters to the foundation president who granted the scholarship and update him on her schooIing. Almost the whole book is written in letter format.  This story shows how raw pain can affect one's life and how we all have walls, though in different thicknesses, around our hearts that have to come down in order for us to really love one another. 

Sam Moore is challenged to really notice people, to become involved in others lives. 

This made me think. How do I give of my life to others. Do I have the courage to show my real self behind my walls when I didn't have the terrible childhood that these had. What excuses or fears to I hide behind?

Finally, I also appreciate how Ms. Reay expsoses the different struggles that foster kids go through, their fears, their needs. How if feels to go from home to home, wondering if this is the place where you'll finally find a home. Since I do not know what this is like, I found the insight eye opening.

All in all I give this book four stars.

Until next time, 

Lucie Inspired

 

Her Heart Bleeds

With valor--her heart bleeds red,

Saturating the brown and green

Fibers if the uniform.

With vigilance--her soul is dyed blue, 

Upholding justice, truth and honesty

    when opposed.

With purity--her spirit shines white 

Offering open arms and opportunities

    To anyone.

Stained by cowardance, neglect, deceit:

She decays to naught 

But thin threads faded 

And tossed dejectedly in the wind. 

Freedom and life is no longer her banner.

Her motto--From many to one-- 

Has been replaced.

Pumps slow to a cathartic pace

Slowly letting life leak from her veins,

Silently she calls for resurgence,

Of what she once stood for,

Of what she once was.

<mbw

The Chasm

With my face lodged against the window pane,

As the rain putter-patters on the glass,

I wait for sight of his sweat sodden shirt,

Ready to greet him weary from work.

I'll run to him, and he'll catch me in his arms,

Grateful to see my cheerful young smile

And listen to the activities of my day.

Now I see him standing stolen in the window,

His face blurred by the rivulets of rain,

His hand propelling me toward work--Waiting...until I come back again.

This reminiscence brings nostalgia.

We are no longer two bodies who partake 

In a recycled ordinary routine.

The innocence of childhood understanding--

Diminished by my adult mind,

Is cloistered by years of covert training:

To sever my life to avoid rejection.

Where did our easy comraderie go?

It fell through the crags and cracks

Of our meager connection-- depleted 

The chasm of relating is widened

Where neither know how to cross the divide.

Preconceived reactions will ignite 

There embittered strife into flames.

Love, being ill defined, causes wounds

Too naked and ravaged to keep immured.

<mbw 

Atonement by Ian McEwan

I just started reading this book today and it's beginning surprised me. It was original and different in a way that really made regard what I was reading with new eyes. The different perspectives that the author shows is in some ways nascent in form from what I usually read. The way Briony Tallis regards the art of story telling and how she interprets life caused me to question my own writing and its real purpose. 

Here is a quote that really set my mind thinking: "She need only show separate minds, as alive as her own, struggling with the idea that other minds were equally alive. It wasn't only wickedness and scheming that made people unhappy, it was confusion and misunderstanding; above all, it was failure to grasp the simple truth that other people are as real as you."

This concept of the human struggle being aptly described by a fictional thirteen year old baffled me. Here I am twenty-one and I don't even think about these types of things.  Where has the inquisitive young minds apt to learn about the human condition gone? Have we truly devolved to such a state that we don't even think about what drives our actions, stories, believes, even our lives?

The fake self and the real self

I keep hearing this phrase "be your real self" and wonder what is my real self? Is it the person I want to be deep down inside with a welcoming demeanure and kindness in the eyes or is it the true person I am with flaws, mistakes, and hurts? Is the self that I claim is real just a facade to protect my true colors? 

Since I tend to take things so literally and to the point, I would interpret this phrase "be the real you" to mean the me that is raw and unadulterated. Yet there must be more than one layer of "the real you." There is the person that I show to strangers, the one that I show to acquaintances, and then those that I show to close friends and family. Some, or all of you, get glimpses of this person. But unless I know you well, you probably haven't seen all of me, or at least the part that makes me uniquely me. I think this is true about most of the world. As humans it is our nature to just share enough to interact and have friendships but rarely do we really dig deep to get to know someone. 

However, when I thought more about this phrase I wondered if in the effort to be our real selves we might actually create this ideal or desirous person that we say we're like. We try so hard to attain this ideal "real personhood" that we fail to actually be who we are, faults and all. In essence, we end up covering who we are with who we want to be and mask who we really are. 

So I guess my encouragement is to be who you are with flaws, mistakes, and everything else. Trying to be someone you're not is a waste of your life. You'll totally miss out on the joy of being who you were created to be. This doesn't mean that you totally ignore trying to  become a better person but just don't do it from wrong proves because you feel like you won't be accepted otherwise. There are people who love you. Even if you don't feel it, God loves you so much to that he sent his son to die for you. If nothing else take comfort in that.

Finley as a last word of encourGement I leave you with a po from Erin Handon my all time favorite poet. This comes from her book The Poetic Underground. 

Alternate Ends, One Beginning

On my way back home from work one day I was thinking about how when we choose to follow Christ, we have to make a decision. We are inundated with messages from the media, the government, and all kinds of people telling us what to believe, what to do, and how to react. Do we ever stop to think why we do something? Why we choose to go down one path and not another? Or are our actions just non-responsive reactions to stimuli that we see and hear. When talking about eternity, this kind of response is fatal. If we passively brush off the decision to choose Jesus or not, we will end up spending eternity in hell separated from God. However, Jesus died to save us from this end. It is our choice to choose him and his salvation that he offers.

How are we to think about and actually choose this answer if we believe everything that we see and hear? The media says that there are many ways to heaven and that all one has to do is be good. Yet we can see from watching even ten minutes of the news that there are a lot of people doing evil things out there. There is a potential for good and evil in everyone. The crucial decision is which path they choose to follow--the good or the evil. Will they follow Jesus' way or the way of the world?

So in thinking about all of this I composed this poem in my 30 minute drive home. I entitled it "Alternate Ends, One Beginning" in hopes to communicate the two choices that one has between the good or evil path. We all begin the same with the same options yet we can end up in drastically different places depending on what path we follow.

I hope that you will choose to follow Jesus' path.

Alternate Ends, One Beginning
One choice,
One direction
Can bend our paths
Forever apart.
One call,
One rejection,
Can shatter our hearts
Fully broken.
One chance,
One confession,
Can unite our souls
Together mended.
One move,
One decision,
Can join our spirits
Divinely intended.

copyrighted by Mary Beth Weaver
All rights reserved to Mary Beth Weaver. No copying, reproducing, or using of this material unless the author is contacted.

Creativity: mixing the old with the new

Having recently started reading this book called S. by J.J. Abrams and Doug Dorst, I've been thinking about what creativity really means. Is there any real possibility of an idea being truly one's own if everybody's ideas hinge on things created before? I'd like to believe that it would be possible. 

According to Dictionary.com creativity means "the ability to transcend traditional ideas, rules, patterns, relationships, or the like, and to create meaningful new ideas, forms, methods, interpretations, etc.; originality, progressiveness, or imagination." When I read this definition the thing that stuck out to me was the word meaningful. Out of all the things my work could be, I want it to be meaningful to someone. Yes, I realize that essentially we all base our creativity off of something that already exists or at least our inspiration comes from that. However, I believe that our minds can conceive of something truly unique. It is a special ability of man to be able to think, to reason, and to create. Embrace it and own it as yours. Impart a piece of yourself into the work. Then it will be a little gift to the world. 

So far in my reading of S., the story has surprised me and stretched the mind in numerous ways to view creativity on a new level. I aspire to be able to someday create a novel of such wealth and abiding interest.

Beauty in Pain

I don't know about you but when I'm experiencing pain it's hard to see any positive side. Sometimes I wonder if there is any positive side. My friend has been helping me get through things in my past which I've been holding on to for a long time. 

Having thought about the past these last few days and the pain that I've kept close to my heart caused me to ponder life in a new way. I usually a pessimistic person who approached life rationally and pragmatically. However, circumstances sometimes calls for me to stretch out of my shell and do something things that make me uncomfortable. I've had to open up my self to let others see my deepest hurts and struggles. Now this is not easy but it is also therapeutic. It forces me to reckon with the emotions I've kept inside all these years. 

A lot of times I wrote poetry from emotion, sometimes positive sometimes negative. For a while I thought maybe I should try to write more positive poetry because I didn't want people to think badly of me for being so dark. My sister told me something that really helped. She said, "Write poetry that flows from your emotions. Don't care about what other people Weill say or think. Just express your thoughts." This was freeing for me because so often I do things because I am afraid of what people will think but in doing this I do not live up to my potential., not do is hate my true self. 

I am tired of sequestering myself for fear of others rejecting who I am, or in some way my work. Living life to its fullest, knowing true friendship and honest love is the beauty that comes from stepping out in faith to share yourself with others. It will take me a while to learn this but  I truly believe it is worth it--to find beauty through pain.

Spring Comes Again

I bask in the sunshine 

Feeling it's warm glow.

Watching the bare trees wave

Their budded arms, 

While they welcome the swollen river, 

Flowing swiftly down stream, 

Ready to water the tiny sprigs

Breaking through the soil.

Life again is seen 

In maitre long dormant.

Spring renews the spirit 

Of the parched soul.

You Collect my Teardrops in a Bottle

You collect my teardrops in a bottle

And hold it carefully in your hands

Always sensitive to be gentle

With the longings of my heart.

You see my deep,binding fears 

And accept me broken stil.

You search the inner chambers 

Of my weary entombed heart

To release me from myself

And mend my shattered soul.

You watch the jar of my tears 

Filling slowly drop by drop

A tear from your eyes

Trails down to join my own.

Now I know you own my heart.

The Tide and The Sea

You are the tide;

I am the sea.

Constant as the stars,

You come back to me.

Rising with the sun,

You ride on the wind,

Waiting for no one

To pull you in.

Steady and sure 

I wait for regress

Longing to feel

Your gentle caress.

Slowly but surely

You swell and deplete

Shaping so swiftly

Then running in retreat.

You are the tide;

I am the sea.

Constant as the stars,

You come back to me.

Erin Hanson: Modern Day Poet

Beyond the Looking Glass

Through shards of glass,

I see your face,

Distorted and disfigured.

I reach to touch

Your blemished cheek,

But the cracks cut my finger.

The blood drips down

To smear your face

Where pain of love sears my soul.

Stay near to me; 

Don't part the glass.

I've longed to see your face, 

Yet lies took you 

Away from me, 

Leaving me alone to look-

To search myself 

In the mirror 

Hoping there to find you near.

Why did I say

Unholy words 

That drove you away from me?

I want you back

My love, my friend,

To touch and see your kind face.

Your face slowly

Fades from my view

A powerful apparition.

The pools of blood

Grows silk larger

Seeing through the shards of glass,

Beckoning you

To come to me

From beyond the looking glass.

The subject sees his lost love's face in the broken mirror that reflects the sin which drew them apart. He is bleeding on the glass yearning for her to come back and convincing himself that he sees her image. The image is distorted because he sees her as he wants to see her but in reality sin clouds his view of her and her of him. He calls her back asking for forgiveness for the wrong words that he says. The pool of  blood continues to grow signifying that the chasm separating them is deeper and larger. He creates this beautiful image where sin would no longer separate him from his love. Where no pain or suffering would be known. Only love. He calls this place "beyond the looking glass."

As I was writing this I did not fully understand where I was intending the whole poem to go. But then this concept of sin affecting relationship and the idea of a mirror appeared in my mind. I wanted to express the conflict between the man and his lost love; how he longs for her and yet does not have her. He gave her away essentially because he lied to her. The distorted image mentioned at the beginning is a reflection of what he thinks he is seeing. He is not satisfied with this apparition. He wants the real thing. Even in a Chritian's relationship with God, we see things though an human perspective and do not realize all that we are missing. We don't understand that the view we have of the works is distorted from what God meant I to be and therefore we don't understand what true love is. 

The blood is another interesting factor in the poem. It appears at the beginning and the end. Blood has long been a symbol of life and yet can represent suffering. It can bring life to those who have it and death to lose who loose it. We have God's love offered to us but if we don't accept it, we are dead without it.

So I write all of this to say that I hope as Valentine's Day approaches, we would remember what love really is and how much heartache sin can cause if not dealt with.  God offers something beyond  sin's consequences and heartache. He offers life beyond the looking glass.

 

Yours truly, 

Lucie Inspired

Mind travel

If a little kid came up to you and asked why you'd want to read what would your answer be? What compels us to search out an escape through a story whether true, fictional, or otherwise? What is the deciding factor for whether you like a book or don't even want to finish it? 

Every story, every book, every cover is unique and different. Each have something to offer that the reader must discover. As an aspiring author, I look deeply into how an author writes sometimes to figure out what made the book great. Other times i just read for a nice story. The important thing is that when we read we can imagine pirates on the open seas or a gun fight in Harlem. Reading brings a vitality to life by letting their mind travel and see things that the reader might not be able to or have to option of doing. 

So go read a book. There are so many options and different stories that surly one would interst you.

If that child asked me why I read, I'd tell him that I read to experience the world.